Woman’s Work

I have horrible posture. Horrible.

I can try to remember to stand up straight and sit straight at the beer or dinner table, but at my desk… Horrible.

Not wanting to be hunchbacked by 50, I decided a kneeling chair was worth trying. It’s really hard to slouch on a kneeling chair.

It arrived this afternoon. The Boy is at work.

Obi inspected the elements as I went to find a screwdriver. Tools? Maybe we should wait for The Boy, the brown kitten suggested. This looks like man’s work.

Pish, I said. I mentioned that I owned a home before The Boy. I lived alone. I built my last desk. Oliver flipped his ears back, remembering the cussing, crying and bloodshed of that night.

If I was going through with this, they would supervise… From a distance.

All I had to do was bolt the pads onto the frame and put on the casters. It took ten minutes and I only mushed my fingers once. Okay, twice.

Once I left the room, they inspected my work.

We’ll see, they said. But maybe The Boy should check it when he gets home.

***

In case you’re wondering, I’ve been sitting in the chair while I wrote this blog. And I’m sore already, but it’s the sore of a person who doesn’t use her back muscles to sit up straight. I’m optimistic.

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